The Grumpy Traveler
This story is fiction, but it could have happened…
I’m tired, I’m cold, I’m hungry. I’m in this crowded guest house in a town my grandfather left thirty years ago and said good riddance to. It’s all because stupid Caesar needed some more revenue for his imperial ambitions.
Let me introduce myself. My name is Nereus. My grandfather was a Jew, descended from King David himself. When Herod took control thirty years ago, he saw which way the political winds where blowing and maneuvered himself into being Herod’s man in Bethlehem. My grandfather was adept at climbing the political ladder, and soon he was promoted to be an administrator of a big public works project Caesarea on the coast.
My father was raised in an environment that was more Roman than Jewish. He became a successful trader, and found it convenient to lower his religious profile – it got in the way of business. That’s why I was given a Greek name, not a Jewish one.
I picked up the family skill of maneuvering and joined my father in the trading business. Since his death three years ago, I’ve expanded quite a bit.
But now this. A decree went out from Rome that everyone needed to go back to the home of their ancestors to be registered for a new tax - as if we need anymore taxes! I had to shut down my trades just as the stormy weather was about to allow movement on the sea again, pack up my grumpy trophy wife and kids and come back to this backwater town that has not one decent place to spend the night. Only because I bribed the owner of the guest house, could we get a corner of a room. I’ve had to beat people away just to protect my family’s space.
Why just tonight, a young man comes through the room, leading his very pregnant wife. The guest house owner asked me if I could give up a piece of my space for the two of them. I told him, “Certainly not.” Do you think I want my children to learn the where babies come from this very night? Besides, this is my floor. I paid hard earned cash for it. If they want a place to stay, let them earn their own money and pay their own way.
Tomorrow, I just want to deal with the authorities, get through this bureaucratic nightmare, and get on my way home. After this experience, I hope I never have to hear about Bethlehem or anything that happens here again.
The lesson? You don’t have to hear anything about Bethelehem or what happened there. You don’t have to give up anything to make room for a needy woman about to give birth. You don’t have to interrupt your life for anything God is doing.
But you sure will miss a lot.
I hope you don’t miss anything God wants to bring to you this Christmas.
